


from laundry to a laundered reputation

by RainofColours (Celticheavens)



Category: Guilty Gear, Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Crack, Crossover, I just want to write an indulgent AU for once, M/M, Model AU, so i did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-04-02
Packaged: 2018-10-03 23:44:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10261745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticheavens/pseuds/RainofColours
Summary: [Part of my Model!AU YGO x GG crossover collab with daemon_angelus] Diva-model-turned-CEO, Kaiba Seto, really isn't the boss you want to have, and Katsuya concurs wholeheartedly. Well, mostly at least.[Kaijou centric with small mentions of Solky]





	1. when a clean slate isn't worth cleaning for Kaiba Seto over

**Author's Note:**

> In which Seto runs a successful modelling agency with Ky as his most successful model. Katsuya is a janitor working under the supervision (or rather lack of) of Sol, who unbeknownst to their boss, has had a thing going with Ky since forever. Oh, and Seto loves torturing Katsuya with near impossible tasks, just because he can. 
> 
> Note: Some language used

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say it's less than ideal when all of Katsuya's previous work experiences have been more pleasant than dealing with Kaiba Seto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Some language used
> 
> [Want to know what happens between the line break? Well, you're in luck because daemon_angelus very kindly filled in the blanks! Click [brake switch](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10425291) for some adorable Sol and Katsuya interactions!]

“You missed a spot.”

A voice drawled, languid in the curling of vowels, their wholesome sounds a contrast to the sharpness of the ending consonant as it finished. The owner of the silken voice was Kaiba Seto, owner of Kontrast Creative, one of the top modelling agencies in the world.

Seto lifted a perfectly manicured hand —the daintiness of the motion broken by the unkindness of its purpose—, pressing the pad of his finger into the gloss of his Carpathian elm desk (why would he _settle_ for anything less?), and dragged it just as casually across its polished surface.

“I cleaned that! Ya just put ya finger on it!”

The voice that rebutted the first was heavy with accent, the roll of the adjective almost a growl, serving not only as an indicator of displeasure, but magnified the gruffness of its curt tonal conclusion as well. Its owner was one of KC’s janitors, Jounouchi Katsuya, who might as well be a nobody in the presence of his employer.

Unstirred, the CEO angled his body so that his gaze directly met the man who knelt before him, cloth crumpled in his grip as he paused mid-cleaning of a similarly expensive chair. Seto crossed his legs casually, the length of his coat softly swishing against the furniture, framing the infinity that his limbs seemed to stretch into, almost mesmerising to spectators until the click of his heeled boots sliced through the haze of their admiration.

“Did I dismiss you from your duties yet?”

“No–“

“Is my desk spotless?”

“No, but–“

“Did I not tell you I want every single piece of furniture in my office _immaculate_?”

“Ya, _but_ –“

“Then why are you _there_ , and not _here_ when there’s a _massive_ smudge on my desk?”

Knowing better than to argue further (because he wasn’t going to cancel on Yugi this weekend again), Katsuya grumbled under his breath as he heaved himself off the carpeted floor, wincing at the pins and needles in his legs as he hurried as much as he could to the other man.

Such an exchange had almost become routine to him, and could _almost_ be a form of banter if it wasn’t always at Katsuya’s expense. On the bright side, at least it broke the monotony of his duties. Today was considered one of the tamer instances — if it wasn’t the desk, it would be the clutter of documents; if it wasn’t the documents, it would be the displacement of Seto’s fountain pen from its stand ( _what sorta pen needs a bloody stand?!_ ); if it wasn’t the pen, it would be how the items on the desk were not _perfectly_ aligned; if it wasn’t the alignment, it would be the lone drop of water that somehow missed his notice, trickling onto the (apparently hand-woven) carpet; if it wasn’t the water, it would be how he had refilled the wine to just over, or just under, or anything but the exact height where the third ridge of the crystal glass sat.

Katsuya swore his boss must be insane, because only a person this _neurotic_ would be capable of insisting on things like that.

Not even bothering to hide his scowl, he moved around the desk to where Seto’s back faced in attempts to quickly wipe the mark off–

“I can’t see if your dirty paws are touching my desk when you’re behind me. Come over here.”

Katsuya grudgingly trudged over to where Seto was instead, stopping as he awaited the latter to give him access to the desk. After several seconds of his boss remaining as stationary as before —save for the very slow curl on his glossed lips—, Katsuya resigned to how he probably needed to lean over Seto, _and_ the desk to clean the smudge. _Bastard._

The janitor bent over, taking extra care to keep a visible distance between his stomach, and his boss’ legs. Arm extending, and hovering over the otherwise very shiny surface of the desk, he wiped at the stain, struggling to maintain his position. Katsuya felt his abs shuddering, and considered skipping his core workouts later _if_ he somehow managed not to fall flat into Seto’s lap.

“Good.”

Katsuya heard what sounded like a purr. He cursed how Seto had the ability to coat everything that escaped his mouth with satin, trying to resist his urge to shiver as he felt goosebumps form on his already sweaty neck. _Ya tricks ain’t workin’ on me, ya fox spirit!_

Before his abs gave up on him, Katsuya stumbled backwards, panting in absolute relief at the averted disaster. _Prick_.

“What did you say?”

Scrambling to correct what he thought was a silent gripe —especially under the half-glare his boss shot at him—, Katsuya chuckled nervously before answering.

“…Rick.”

Well, he tried.

Unconvinced, Seto folded his arms, fingers gracefully resting on the edges of his elbows. He scrutinised the man sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck in front of him, the latter’s eyes looking anywhere but directly at him.

“Rick from accounting? I didn’t know you were such good friends with a _sixty-year-old_.”

“No, eh, Rick’s a friend from, uh, outside work. Funny dude, ya, real funny.”

“Oh? He sounds _wonderful_. I’d _love_ to bring both of you out for dinner some time this week. You can consider it a small thanks from me to one of my _hardest working_ employees.”

“No! I mean, eh, thanks, but no thanks. Not that _I_ don’t appreciate it, but uh, Rick’s overseas right now.”

“What a shame. Where’s he at?”

“Um, America.”

“Which part?”

“Eh… Somewhere… Middleish. With... His folks.“

“I’m surprised someone from the American heartlands will visit our city. What is he doing here?”

“…Workin’.”

“What as?”

“…Waiter.”

“Where did you meet him?

“Uh, at where he is, um, workin’ now.”

“Burger World? Where you worked before you got fired?”

“Eh, ya…”

“He must be _so disappointed_. To come _all the way_ from America to Domino, _only_ to find work as a waiter.”

“Heh… I guess…”

“Since I even gave someone like _you_ a chance, let him know that I will be _delighted_ to offer him a job alongside yours.”

“Eh–, I’ll… I’ll tell him, um, when he’s back.”

“Do that. Then I can finally expand my American janitorial team.”

Nodding, Katsuya smiled weakly, wondering how he was going to prolong his imaginary friend’s stay in America until Seto forgot about his lie. He saw his boss return his attention his computer, the glint in the latter’s blue eyes telling Katsuya that perhaps his story wasn’t as completely foolproof as he’d thought. Despite that, he was still mostly out of the waters, so Katsuya exhaled the breath he didn’t realise he was holding, cautiously eyeing the other man as he returned to his duties.

“I suggest you hurry up. The dry cleaners close by five thirty, and I _need_ the outfit before I leave for my dinner at six.”

Cursing internally (and making sure it remained inside his head instead of teetering on his tongue this time), Katsuya acknowledged the request unhappily. He didn’t care if Seto’s secretary cum personal assistant, Kisara, was rushing other errands today. He was paid _only_ as a janitor, so why did he have to deal with bullshit like that too?

He continued his cleaning, making sure to draw the wet strokes from his cloth in various phallic symbols on every item he wiped. Even if his boss noticed what he was doing, the former shouldn’t be offended because Kaiba Seto was indeed the _biggest walking dick_ not only in the building, but also in the entire city of Domino.

If Katsuya didn’t need this job as desperately as he did, he would have thrown his pail of grimy water at Seto, flipped the latter a very aggressive bird, then stomped out of the forsaken building. If only his younger self hadn’t sought solace in gangs, then present him wouldn’t have to put up with _that_ conceited asshole throwing smirks his way every other minute.

“Eh, how do I claim back my transport fare?”

Before he left, Katsuya turned to ask his boss, only remembering when he patted his too empty wallet out of habit.

“Your contract doesn’t say anything about claims. Besides, you’ve half an hour to pick it up, and another half to get back. Get creative.”

“ _What?!_ Pickin’ up ya stupid laundry ain’t in my contract too!” (At least that’s what Katsuya hoped, because he barely skimmed its pages before signing it, too worried that he would be rejected when they found out about his sordid past.)

“Cleaning services _are_ listed in your contract.”

“But it ain’t _me_ cleaning ya stinkin’ clothes!”

“Precisely. And because of your _incompetence_ , the least you can do is to pick them up, and deliver them straight to my office."

Although Katsuya was sure that wasn’t what _cleaning services_ meant in his context, he couldn’t do anything but comply when he didn’t possess nearly enough (or _any_ ) legal knowledge to dispute its definition in his contract. _Maybe I should reread my contract tonight…_

Katsuya gathered his cleaning tools, cradling them in his arms (because _someone_ wouldn’t allow him to push his trolley inside) as he turned to leave.

“And whatever way you decide to bring my clothes here, I expect them to be in the _exact_ same state as they were when they left the dry cleaners.”

The spray bottle was looking increasingly like the perfect item to throw at Seto’s head.

“For every wrinkle visible, ten thousand yen will be deducted from your pay.”

Preferring not to aggravate his situation by engaging in a further futile argument with his employer, Katsuya grunted a response, nearly slamming the door as he exited the office. He headed to his supervisor’s office, hoping that the older American had another brilliant plan to save him from his quandary.

 

* * *

 

To solve Katsuya's conundrum, his supervisor, Sol, offered the help of his long-term partner, Ky, who was also one of KC's most prolific models, and was most notable for his benevolence despite the cutthroat industry. Sure enough, Ky was too sympathetic to refuse despite Sol's extending of assistance to Katsuya on his behalf, knowing that the younger man was the favoured target of Seto's _whims_. Besides, he had always enjoyed the companionship of the spirited man, and even considered him a friend after Sol had first introduced them.

“Thanks again, Ky! I owe ya!”

A voice shouted from across the street, its owner half stumbling, and half jogging towards an electric blue supercar. The longhaired blond turned around, an elegant hand rested on the roof of his car before calling back, “My pleasure, Katsuya. Just mind your step–”

A brilliant smile, an unexpected trip over the edge of the sidewalk, and a very angry string of curses later, Katsuya stopped by the car, already feeling winded from trying to keep yet another ridiculous outfit of his boss’ off the ground. Despite his carelessness (which wasn’t _completely_ his fault since the ludicrous length of the outfit’s outer coat covered his entire vision), the clothes were thankfully still in as pristine a condition as before. If they were in a state other than perfect, Katsuya would have thrown himself in front of the nearest speeding car, for he knew death would be more merciful than whatever punishment his devil of an employer would inflict on him.

After spending a good five minutes trying to figure out how to fit the outfit inside Ky’s car without covering the windshield, and wrinkling from its placement, both men settled into the seats that look like they were pilfered from an F1 car, ready to depart.

Mindful of his friend’s cargo, Ky drove smoothly. Utilising the sheer power of the car’s engine, and the domineering flashy exterior of his ride, Ky managed to keep mostly in straight lines as he accelerated, and despite his tinted windows, continued to wave a hand in courtesy at the road users who dove out of his path.

Gratefully aware of Ky’s handling of the car, and marvelling at the older man’s skill, Katsuya ran a finger along the textured material of the dashboard, trying to keep his mind from the speedometer as he watched their surroundings zip by.

“Didn’t think ya like fast cars,” Katsuya commented (or rather shouted) over the roar of the engine’s rev, still in awe at how the other blond managed to remain that relaxed when they were hurtling down the street at over two hundred kilometres per hour.

Ky chuckled in response, a hand casually holding the steering wheel as he glided the car around a turn. Katsuya steadied a hand against the roof out of habit, his other hand sandwiching his boss’ laundry to his lap for fear it would slip away. Of course neither him, nor the clothes shifted because Ky had the foresight to reduce his speed. Exhaling in relief, Katsuya relaxed his posture, waiting for his heart rate to normalise before explaining sheepishly.

“Sorry man, ain’t sayin’ ya drivin’s bad,” Katsuya smoothened the imaginary creases on the clothes before continuing, “Just if I didn’t do that in Hiroto’s Nissan last week, I’d have been thrown outta da window!”

“I’m sure Honda is a great driver,” Ky reassured, “He was probably excited to show you the capabilities of his car.”

“There’ll be no one ta show if he’d killed me then!”

“Unlikely if his car has seatbelts right?”

The younger blond slumped into his seat, now very aware of the seatbelt pressing into his shoulder as he acknowledged his friend’s point. _Only if Hiroto doesn’t crash inta da wall._

“So, eh, why did ya get this car anyway? Thought a Rolls, or a Bentley would suit ya better.”

“Ah, really? Thank you, Katsuya, that’s quite the compliment,” Ky answered, the small smile he gave the younger man somehow lighting up his already delicate features more. Katsuya was reminded then why his friend was also nicknamed a literal angel in the modelling world, and he concurred because the latter sure glowed like a divine being.

“The truth is that I _didn’t_ want a car to begin with.”

“Eh?!” Katsuya blurted out incredulously, trying not to smack his limbs in the rather cramped interior as he gestured to emphasise his point, ”How did ya go from _no car_ ta this… What’s–its-name…”

“McLaren P1 LM,” Ky replied helpfully.

“Yeah, _that_. How?? I thought only moneybags would get somethin’ like this!”

“Well, Mr. Kaiba _did_ suggest I get a car instead of taking the subway,” Ky slid a hand down the steering wheel, easily rotating it as he navigated the U-turn that brought them into the business district.

“And he… Wasn’t too fond of my original car suggestions. One day, I came in to Kisara handing me the keys to _this_. She later told me that my transport allowance had been condensed into the payment for this car, and it should henceforth be my default means of transport during work hours.”

“Wait, that stingy ass bought ya a _car_?!”

“Technically he didn’t _buy_ me one, he just bought one for me on my behalf. It’s still company owned–”

“And he won't give me change ta take a cab?!”

Ky sighed, knowing his friend would file this away as yet another reason why their boss was treating him unfairly.

“Mr. Kaiba works in very… _Unusual_ ways–“

“ _Unusual_?! Ain’t nothin’ unusual about bein’ a cheap bastard!”

Regretting how he’d allowed the conversation to take such a turn, Ky pulled into the KC building, and steered the car into his personal lot. With the noise of the engines finally gone, Ky tried to calm his rather agitated friend down.

“Mr. Kaiba really isn’t a bad person once you get to know him. He treats his friends rather well–“

“That bastard ain’t got no friends!”

Ignoring Katsuya’s contempt, the older man continued, “I would know, because _I_ consider him one of my friends.”

Silenced by his friend’s defence, Katsuya pursed his lips, a rather unhappy frown still evident on his face.

“Mr. Kaiba–, Seto isn’t as terrible as you think. My guess is that he is doing all _that_ ,” Ky shifted his gaze to the clothes on Katsuya’s lap, “To _test_ you.”

Still not buying into Ky’s justification for his boss’ nothing short of utterly appalling way of treating his employees, Katsuya maintained his displeasure as he retorted, “Test?! If cleaning his carpet with fucking _tweezers_ ain’t enough a test, ya can tell him ta shove those same tweezers up his ass!”

“It may be a rather _peculiar_ method, but that’s his way of seeing if you are as dedicated, and hardworking as he wants to believe.”

“This ain’t a one off, Ky! That nutter’s been findin’ new ways ta _torture_ me every damn day!”

“That’s probably him making sure his observations are indeed correct–“

Katsuya groaned frustratedly, moving to gather the bothersome length of his boss’ items before turning back to his friend. Besides wanting to punch the smug look Seto _always_ had off his too pretty face, Katsuya was also incredibly tempted to throw his boss' garish clothes into the trash. Perhaps _that_ would finally teach that man to respect him more.

“I get that _maybe_ he ain’t as shit ta ya as he is ta me. But ya are _royalty_ in the fashion world! Of course he’s gonna treat ya nice.” Katsuya fiddled with the door handle, finally getting the gullwing doors to comply after several increasingly annoyed pushes. “But he’s still a fuckin’ _jerk_ ta anyone who ain’t worth his time. Hell, he even treats Old Man Kobayashi’s _dog_ better than me!”

Not waiting for a reply, Katsuya exited the vehicle, cradling the clothes despite the obvious tension in his arms. “Thanks for da ride, Ky. Wish me luck.”

Ky remained in the driver’s seat, watching as his friend disappeared into the elevator. He knew his boss could be difficult, but if Katsuya was _that_ upset, perhaps he ought to have a few words with Seto about the latter’s _unique_ way of treating his best employees. Because more importantly, it would not be in the CEO’s advantage if Katsuya decided to quit, especially since the feisty blond was the first janitor Seto deemed trustworthy enough to clear his office without Sol’s supervision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm almost sorry for making Katsuya deal with Seto, but hey, that's why he has Ky as the calm voice of reason!
> 
> I'm not too used to writing dialogue heavy stuff, and coupled with how this AU was spawned from indulgent crack, hopefully everything still flows fine!
> 
> Yes, I'm aware there are an incredibly limited number of McLaren P1 LM in the world, but that just goes to show the extent Seto would go to reinforce his image with further prestige. And I bet he has a customised one somewhere...


	2. hung out to dry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seto may have a pretty face (and everything else), but that doesn't make him any better a person given the way he treats Katsuya.

“Didn’t think you’d make it,” Seto admitted honestly as he watched the janitor place his dry-cleaned clothes neatly on his desk. “I’m _almost_ impressed.”

 _Fuck off_.

Seto removed the plastic that encased his clothes, inspecting every inch of his items for even the slightest winkle. Satisfied, but mostly disappointed, he pondered if he should send clothes made from less enduring materials to the dry cleaners in the future.

“Did I pass ya _test_?”

Arching a flawlessly pencilled eyebrow, Seto smirked at the challenge in his employee’s voice.

“Is that what you view your duties as, _tests_?”

Seto undid the buttons of his elaborate coat deftly, not bothering to look at the still fuming janitor as he continued.

“Since you view the tasks I’ve given you as such, the _least_ I can do is to accept your wishes. I’ll even _grade_ you for each of your performances.” He gave his Van Cleef watch a glance before moving on to undo the clasps of his coat’s multiple buckles. “You arrived with barely ten minutes to spare. I consider that a _mediocre_ result at best. You get a B minus.”

“Ya can take ya grade, and _f_ –“

“Correction, C plus for talking back to me.”

Seto placed his coat next to the other pieces of his outfit, checking if they were the best possible combination for his dinner. No longer requiring the other man’s assistance, Seto was ready to dismiss the former’s offending presence from his office.

“I expect a substantial improvement in your performance, because that grade is nothing short of _horrific_.“

“For your next _test_ ,” the CEO gestured to an elaborate statue of a silver dragon that sat on his desk, one of the many that broke the monotony of his otherwise plain room. It was _definitely_ pure silver (or something more expensive, Katsuya couldn’t tell), with what the blond thought were sapphires inlaid as its eyes gleaming under the room’s light.

“I want this, and the rest of my decorative dragons cleaned, and polished before tomorrow. Don’t you dare stop until they shine brighter than Ky Kiske’s hair.”

“Tomorrow? But tomorrow’s Sat–“

“Listen with your ears, not with your mouth. I want it done by tomorrow. _Saturday_.”

As upset as he was that his Friday night was stolen by his boss, Katsuya was still rather relieved at how _doable_ the request was. If he started soon, he might even be home in time to catch the drama he’d been following. Before he could thank the heavens for this rare respite, his boss’ now rose coloured lips curled slowly into an evil smile. _Of course it ain’t that easy. It’s Crazy Kaiba we’re talkin’ about._

“One more thing. You’re _only_ permitted to use cotton buds for cleaning. If, and you _know_ I will, I catch you using anything else, you can bid whatever little professional credibility you’ve left goodbye.”

Katsuya glowered at the new information, incredulous at the audacity of the latter’s demand. If he were ten years younger, when he was still a prominent member of Hirutani’s gang, he would personally see to it that the rich boy would be all shades of purples and blues by now. As much as he’d _love_ to show Seto his idea of a perfect grade through a right hook, his maturity told him this wasn’t a fight he could win. With the weight of his family’s debt on his shoulders, and the cost of Shizuka’s follow up treatments for her vision, Katsuya _couldn’t_ afford to lose his job. Family _always_ came first, even if it meant playing right into the sadistic tendencies of his boss.

So, the janitor ignored the lump of ire in his throat, and gritted his teeth. Keeping his balled fists pressed tightly to his sides, he replied tersely, “As you wish, _sir_.”

Surprised at the ease of the other man’s compliance, Seto swallowed the insult that tethered at the tip of his tongue, finding himself speechless for the first time in a long while. After regaining his composure, the CEO decided that the caprice of someone he couldn’t care less for was unworthy of additional attention. So, he shrugged it off in favour of preparing for his _much_ more important dinner, but not before delivering a final warning.

“If there is so much as a _scratch_ on any of them, you can look forward to forfeiting your pay for the rest of the year. Even though that would be short-changing myself, I’m _magnanimous_ enough to let the remaining amount slide.”

On second thought, Katsuya considered if jail time was worth hurling one of those gaudy statues at his boss’ inflated head.

Before he could decide, Seto waved a hand his way in dismissal. Katsuya swore he could almost feel the knives from his boss’ icy stare as they focused on him, unwavering until the door separated them once more. _The fuck’s wrong with him?!_

Resigning himself to not being able to return home that night, Katsuya plodded to Sol’s office again, hoping his supervisor would be able to cheer him up. (Or feed him. Katsuya had no preference for either since the final outcome was still the same.) Instead, he was met with an office dark, and silent, its resident long gone.

Wondering if his day could get any more miserable, Katsuya reluctantly retrieved his cleaning tools, spending over half an hour running around the storage trying to figure out where Sol had stashed the cotton buds. Although it was no surprise that the other American didn’t pick up his phone, or answer the barrage of texts he had sent (because whenever Sol was with Ky, _nothing_ could tear the former's attention away from his partner), it was still rather infuriating when his day had been nothing short of dreadful.

Even crankier than before, Katsuya grabbed his archaic, but somehow still functional music player, and shoved it into his pocket. Although his boss insisted on a task that preposterous, at least his absence meant he could distract himself with music.

Katsuya walked past a departing Kisara as he was mid dragged himself back to Seto’s office. The secretary greeted him, her sympathetic tone somewhat comforting. He smiled back half-heartedly, thankful that unlike his heartless boss, Kisara was still human.

More curiously, Katsuya was surprised that Kisara wasn’t attending the dinner with his boss. Graceful with an otherworldly beauty that could more than hold its own against Seto's, she was always his choice as a partner for events, which had led Katsuya to speculate that the two were dating. Not that he _knew_ for sure, which was impossible given how his tight lipped boss would never bring up anything that wasn’t related to the business when at work. So, Katsuya had to settle by extrapolating from the various gossip columns that plastered photos of his employer all over the Internet, most of which included Kisara by Seto’s side. Even though Katsuya had never personally seen them go out, or even leave the building together on regular days, the only logical deduction to him was that they were an item, or at least had _something_ between them.

Letting that thought occupy him, Katsuya fumbled for his pass, trying to find a way to balance the little mountain of cleaning equipment he was barely holding on to. If he ended up being fired by Seto the following week for not polishing his statues perfectly, Katsuya consoled himself that at least he could consider a job as an acrobat in a circus somewhere.

Barely managing to scan his pass, Katsuya clumsily pressed down the door handle with his elbow, using his back to push open the door, and skirting through the gap the moment its width allowed him to.

Before he could set his equipment down, Katsuya noticed a movement in the corner of his eye. Whipping his head around, the blond found himself face-to-face with Seto, so close that he could _feel_ the heat of the other’s breath his face. Barely managing to yelp in surprise, Katsuya stumbled backwards inelegantly, the abruptness of his motion causing a good chunk of the items he was cradling to escape onto the floor (and thankfully miss hitting Seto).

“How nice of you to finally _drop_ _in_ ,” Seto commented amusedly as he watched a packet of cotton buds roll to a stop against his boot (dessert boot in suede, and white, because how could he not be a forerunner in the season’s latest trend?). “And here I thought you’d given up.”

“Wh–, why are ya still here?! Thought ya had a dinner ta attend!” Katsuya pushed a palm against his chest, grateful the nasty shock didn’t give him a heart attack.

In spite of how most of his cotton bud packets were now lying on the floor, Katsuya’s first thought was somehow occupied by how Seto smelt not of brimstone, and sulphur like most demons, but of cedar with the barest hint of citric undertones. Its earthy body reminded Katsuya of the trees in the misted memory of a forest he’d visited as a child, their trunks stretching tall and strong into the heavens, stately, and magnificent. But the tang of citrus infused within was almost rebellious, like a flock of sunbirds gaily chasing the spots of light beneath the canopy, their voices enlivening the austere silence with a refreshing vitality.

Katsuya couldn’t help but think how apt a scent it was for his boss.

“I do. Ever heard of the being _fashionably late_?”

Musings interrupted, Katsuya released his disdain for the man in front of him back into his blood. It had been over an hour since he‘d rushed Seto’s clothes over, and seeing his boss _idling_ in front of him only intensified the prickles of indignation that bit at his neck. If the brunet still had time to pace about (or whatever else it was he did) now, why couldn’t he had given Katsuya a little more leeway instead of forcing him to call in a desperate favour from Sol, which in turn cost him another favour with Ky? Moreover, he had to suffer through a ride in a much too loud and uncomfortably fast car, and nearly tripped no less than a hundred times, all _just_ to meet what he’d thought was an urgent deadline. _He really is a Class A dickbag._

Reining in his gripe, Katsuya swallowed its unvoiced syllabus, and opted to divert his attention to picking up the packets that were scattered across the floor. Deciding not to give his employer the gratification of giving what looked like multiple incredibly polite bows each time he bent down to retrieve the packets, Katsuya descended into a half squat as far away as he physically could from Seto. He then pointedly ignored how the latter was still observing him, and proceeded to pick up the stray packets.

“You missed one.”

Katsuya knew Seto was referring to the one packet that still remained by the latter’s foot, the same one that he was deliberately avoiding. The janitor had hoped that by feigning ignorance, it would prompt his employer to kick it over or something. It didn’t even matter if his boss kicked it right at his head, because anything was better than almost touching that accursed man. After several more seconds of immobility, and hearing Seto’s increasingly impatient taps against the leather of his coat, Katsuya finally relented. He gingerly knelt down, supporting himself on his knees before leaning as far as he could, stretching his fingers _just_ enough to touch the packet.

As he retrieved the item, Katsuya heard a soft cough from Seto. The sound made the former instinctively raise his head, looking up almost in concern at his employee. The blond squinted against the glare of the mini spotlights that dotted the ceiling, the same ones he was sure served no purpose other than to highlight the contours of Seto’s already razor sharp features.

He saw how the CEO covered his mouth with the back of his hand, wrist in a gentle arc, and fingers poised with an elegance that Katsuya didn’t know was physically possible when stifling a cough. Fluttering shut from the motion, the length of Seto’s dark lashes fanned onto the fairness of his skin, and Katsuya could just barely make out a hint of eye shadow —luxurious purple, and shimmering silver— dusting their lids. Relaxing into newfound comfort, eyes now open, but gazed unfocused, brilliant cobalt glimmered under the shadows of their hoods, strangely captivating in their partial obscurity. Seto remained, his head still slightly turned, exposing the length of his neck where light pooled on. Katsuya felt his breath hitch at the sight, from the magnetism of an action that unobtrusive, feeling his own fingers tingle under hard plastic, wondering if Seto’s skin was indeed the cream and milk as rumours claimed.

Recovering, Seto placed his other hand almost daintily on the crest of his hip, slightly leaning his weight on the same side as he did. It didn’t matter if the action was a latent memory from his catwalk days (when the versatility of his androgynous features netted him places in both women's, and men's fashion shows), or if it was the need from his narcissistic tendency to remind Katsuya that he was, and still is one of the highest paid, and most sought after models in the industry. Because for once, Katsuya didn’t gag at what he saw as his boss’ completely conspicuous, and totally unnecessary display of vanity. Instead, he almost allowed his jaw to slacken at the ethereal presence Seto exuded, only remembering to clamp his mouth shut when he saw the other man redirect his attention back to him.

Katsuya might even call him _beautiful_.

After the opportunity to really look at his boss, as much as Katsuya hated to admit, there were _very_ good reasons why Seto found so much success in the industry. With how the brunet had struck jackpot in the genetic lottery, it was no surprise that he shot to superstardom in as short a timeframe as he did. It was impossible not to with a willowy frame that not only suited, but _wore_ all clothes, from the minimalist, to the avant garde. That, coupled with how the harshness of his edges were tempered by their graceful slenderness, Seto looked every bit as refined as his heritage. With all that going for him, Katsuya couldn’t even really blame the other man for wanting ceiling spotlights installed _just_ to enhance his already stunning features even more dramatically.

There was this inherent pull in the way Seto looked: the way light seemed to gift him their luminescence, until his fair skin glowed with the intensity of their collective whole; the way shadows collected under the knifelike edges of his cheekbones, as though shirking from his resplendence; the way his strikingly blue eyes enraptured all from under the cover of soft chestnut, holding until all that remained was the memory of the same vivid blue; the way one’s eyes would fall past the descent of his nose, embracing the temporary reprieve after, only to find themselves captive once more between the pointed crests of his razor thin lips; the way he was all precise lines and distinct angles, deceptively tame in their smoothness, but unforgiving in their severity.

“This is a good look for you.”

“Eh?” Katsuya peered at his employer from under his bangs confusedly, finally snapping out of his thoughts that were of the totally-not-admiring-how-good-his-boss-looked nature.

“On your knees, staring _adoringly_ at me.”

“I– , I ain’t starin’ _adoringly_ at ya! I just wanted ta see if ya were dyin’ yet, ya egoistic prick!” Katsuya sputtered, affronted at the blatantly _false_ accusation. He immediately manoeuvred into a squat before quickly snatching up the stray packet, all the while trying to ignore the burning in the tips of his ears, and in his cheeks. _Knew he ain’t human! It was two seconds! No normal person woulda noticed that!_

“Unfortunately not,” Seto replied easily, arms once more crossed tightly across his chest, the multiple belts on the sleeves of his coat crinkling as he did. “Given your _ghastly_ eating habits, it’s more likely that _you_ will drop dead before I do.”

“Unlike ya, I ain’t gonna just eat rabbit food! And I work out!”

“As do I, but I prefer not to clog my body with processed food, and chemicals.”

Katsuya stared disbelievingly at his employer, wondering how the latter’s twig-like arms could even hold a dumbbell without snapping. Or perhaps _commanding_ someone else to work out is enough to suffice for the rich.

“In case you are somehow unaware, vegetables are an essential food group. Is the lack of it in your diet why you always look so _constipated_?”

Now feeling the rest of his face heat up, Katsuya retaliated hotly, “Constipated?! Ya _face_ is constipated!”

“Well, your posture certainly suggests so. Then again, I wouldn’t expect someone of _your_ status to understand what decorum is.”

Truly amazed at his boss’ ability to find new buttons of his to push, Katsuya leapt back onto his feet, still clenching the cotton buds packet as he faced his tormentor. What good was a body that divine, if all it housed was a soul that wretched?

“Okay, ya win! Now can ya stop pickin’ on me?!"

Before Seto could retort how easily _submissive_ his employee was, the latter continued, voice loud, and the warm brown of his eyes strained with something beyond plain exasperation.

“Ya _know_ I can’t afford ta lose this job, but enough’s enough! Can ya _please_ get da fuck off my back, and let me work in peace?!”

Taken aback, but not completely surprised by Katsuya’s outburst, Seto decided that perhaps he had enough fun with the blond for the day. The way the former’s hands trembled with restraint, and the tension in the bite of his jaw were foreign in their intensity, and a tiny part of Seto _almost_ wanted to apologise. Instead, his pride prevailed, the sliver of remorse consumed by the umbrage from his employee’s lack of respect. Regardless of the derision his remarks had elicited in the latter, as the person who paid said offender’s wages, _nothing_ could allow him to tolerate such outright insolence.

“Watch your language, Jounouchi. One more time, and you’re _fired_.”

With that, Seto snatched his clutch, car keys tight in the grip of his other hand as he thundered out of his office, making sure to slam the door hard enough to make the other man visibly flinch.

Katsuya placed the packet —now thoroughly crumpled, and soaked from his abuse— back into its pile, fingers still rattling from the resonance of his boss’ anger.

Well, at least he got the peace he'd asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although this part isn't as crack as I wanted it to be, my reason is really just how I wanted to rave about how beautiful Seto is to even out all the times I have done for Katsuya. If normal Seto is already gorgeous, just imagine the man as a model. He'd not only turn heads, but straight up snap them. Kudos to Katsuya for holding out as long as he did!
> 
> Because I don't write Kisara as much as I should, daemon_angelus and I managed to carve out what we thought was a pretty solid characterisation we want for her in this AU, so hopefully I'll get to showcase that by writing more of her in future snippets. Although the speculation about her being in a relationship with Seto may seem redundant here, it's part of a bigger picture we have planned for her character, so just keep that in mind for now. 
> 
> Although this is still rather long winded, I hope the events provided enough entertainment for this to remain a part of its own. Fair warning that overt Kaijou will not be happening yet, but instead manifests itself as this self denial of mutual pining that these two didn't even know they had. Completely not because I wanted to write these two having their signature banter more, and poor Katsuya being tortured, nope.


	3. budding of something new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe said pretty face isn't as incorrigible as Katsuya had thought. And we find out that Katsuya listens to Britney Spears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Some language used

“Fancy seeing you here,” a sickeningly silken voice drawled from behind, and Seto felt himself instantaneously cringe in return.

“Otogi.”

“No need to be so _formal_ around me, Ryuuji would–”

“I’d rather not.”

“Ouch.”

The other model sat in the recently vacated chair across the brunet, a smirk relaying that Seto’s icy reply had done little, or if anything at all to deter his presence. Disregarding all concepts of _personal space_ , Ryuuji dragged the chair until it allowed his knee to barely miss the increasingly unhappy CEO, shooting the latter an intentionally patronising smile before he slid into his new seat.

Ignoring the frigidity in Seto’s reply, Ryuuji leaned back into the chair, the high ponytail of his carefully styled long hair gently fluttering as he did. To the average person, or even the other supermodels who dotted the place, Ryuuji was quite the stunner with midnight black hair that somehow cascaded into the perfect frame against his perpetually hooded bright green eyes. Although shorter than his counterpart, Ryuuji’s incredible body proportion added miles of illusion, and given his innate talent, he soared to the top echelon of the industry alongside the then modelling Seto.

Sensing the brunet’s prickly attitude, Ryuuji couldn't help but mimic the former’s defensive posture. Folding his arms in subtle mockery, the vividness of his eyes accentuated by an uncharacteristic sharpness, unwavering as they held Seto’s glare under their covers of gold shadows

“Is there something you need?” Seto snapped irritably, less than pleased at being the target of the other model’s attention. _I don’t care what personal emergency you have Ky, but you’re going to get some very choice words from me for giving this tacky never-has-been a chance to get this close to me._

“No, but it looks like there’s something _you_ need,” Ryuuji released an arm, propping it vertically to allow his chin to rest loosely on his hand. “But don’t worry, that’s why _I’ve_ come to give your lonesome self some company.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’d much rather the presence of media reporters than someone like you.” Seto pushed his chair as far back as he could, gifting himself a whole extra inch of freedom from the suffocating presence of the other man he had the absolute _misfortune_ of being trapped in. “Unlike you, I’ve no need to prance around with a posse for others to know who I am.”

“What makes you think I need one?” The other man gestured pointedly at the surprising lack of screaming groupies around him, deliberately knocking his velvet covered knee lightly against Seto’s leather clad one as he did.

“Even they’ve abandoned you? I see that you _really_ are on the last legs of your modelling career.”

“Hardly,” Ryuuji replied just as smoothly, taking the time to tuck the length of his fringe behind his ear, revealing the full length of his drop earring dangling delicately against his flawless skin — a dice carved from solid gold with opposing sides set as transparent crystals, in which Seto could glimpse circles of rubies gliding around with even the slightest motion from their owner.

Seeing Seto’s gaze drawn instinctively towards his jewellery, the other model continued, “Collaboration between my personal brand, and Chopard, which _of course_ you’d know since it’s one of this season’s darling collections.”

“ _Darling_ is quite the exaggeration. The items in that collection are _gaudy_ at best, and do little, if nothing to push the boundaries of design. Single oversized earring? This season has been completely _oversaturated_ with them even before your superfluous addition.”

Before Ryuuji could interject, the brunet continued blandly, “The highlight of the collection is the exchange of Chopard’s signature _happy diamonds_ for _jubilant_ _rubies_. Dernier cri it isn’t, but sheer _laziness_ , and a _lack of imagination_ it definitely is. As mediocre as your modelling skill is, it’d be a _much_ better business decision to continue your short lived future there instead.”

Knowing better than to take Seto’s bait at a _charity gala_ , Ryuuji chose to respond with a chuckle that didn’t quite reach his eyes, the _jubilant rubies_ of his earring clinking as he did.

“Regardless how it doesn’t suit your love for the passé–”

“ _Classics_.”

“Classically _boring_ , it doesn’t change how my collection is _still_ the season’s best seller,” the black-haired model explained, peach coloured lips curling upwards from their previous frown, “My profits there, _and_ me walking for the usual big names for the upcoming fashion weeks are anything but indicators of my supposed departure.”

“Sorry to disappoint, but my career is _far_ from over, Seto,” Ryuuji twirled a stray lock of his hair, the rubies of his elaborate cocktail ring (another piece from his collection) flashing almost tauntingly at the man across him.

“On the other hand, I don’t recall seeing _your_ name in any of the setlists for the fashion week shows. But I guess that explains why your knowledge of the season’s trends is _lacking_.”

“Catwalks are _beyond_ my main source of income now,” Seto counters easily, “Why waste my own time, and effort when I can monopolise, and wield that of others with comfort instead?”

The brunet held the gaze of the other man as he moved to wrap a slender leg over the other, motion purposeful as he left it propped higher than usual, a white suede boot prominent in contrast against the glittering velvet pants of the latter.

“Being au courant with the fashion scene is but a single requirement of being the CEO of Kontrast Creative. Not only is my knowledge of latest trends _impeccable_ , with millions of eyes on me, I’m a forerunner in the _much_ more exclusive trend setting circle.”

“Suede, in a simple clean white. Perfect for when the weather is still less than ideal, and brilliant against the monotony of muted shades that characterise winter. Versatile, it complements any outfit, from the formal to the casual, all the while providing utmost comfort for the wearer without compromising on class. Utterly splendid in every way, which is why it’s a _must-have_ staple for Autumn-Winter ’17.”

Wrinkling his nose in disgust, his eyes almost physically repulsed from the sight, Seto returned his attention to the travesty of the other model’s footwear, “Winklepickers have _never_ been a acceptable choice. Not even for witches on Halloween. And velvet is _so_ Autumn-Winter ‘16. It should be evident to you now that wearing trends, and _being_ fashionable are two very different things.”

Before Ryuuji could form a retort (because winklepickers _are_ incredibly stylish, it just takes someone _daring_ enough to make a bold statement with them), a singsong voice interrupted their conversation.

“Oh, hello _boys_ ~”

Feeling dread crawl on their now damp necks, both men resisted turning their heads to the _unwelcomed_ presence, disagreement now forgotten as they temporarily bonded to face a mutual enemy.

“Maximillion.”

“Pegasus.”

“Why yes, that _is_ my name! I’m _so_ pleased you boys _finally_ remember! Warms my heart right back up~”

“If he has a heart, I’d be Mr. Macho 2017,” Ryuuji whispered under his breath, barely loud enough for the brunet to hear.

For the first time in his life, Seto agreed with something that escaped the other model’s mouth. He slightly inclined his head in agreement, steely eyes still focused at the similarly displeased latter instead of the intruder, and arms folded so tightly he could feel the tension strangle his own breaths.

“What a stroke of luck for me to find _both_ Seto darling, and dear Ryuuji~ We have _so_ much catching up to do–“

Seto suppressed his urge to regurgitate the little food he’d managed to stomach.

Taking the older male’s _invitation_ as a cue to hightail out before said _catching up_ happened, Ryuuji non-too-subtly stood up, lips tight as he excused himself, “I apologise, but nature calls. I’m sure you, and Seto have _much_ to converse about even in my absence.”

With a dainty flip of his hair, the black-haired model hurried off, the patter of his heels almost ecstatic. When a safe enough distance away, he glanced back at the now outright furious Seto, giving him a look that was somewhat apologetic, but mostly victorious.

Not willing to be the _inferior_ model’s scapegoat, Seto extracted his phone (encased in a case lined with actual diamonds outlining the holographic KC logo engraved in its centre) from his clutch, looked past the placid, yet somehow uncanny smile the older man was giving him before deadpanning.

“If you’d excuse me, I’ve a _very_ important call to take.”

“That’s a _shame_. But I don’t see a call–“

“Trust me, there’s one,” Seto shot back almost immediately, already walking past the bewildered (but somehow still smiling) older man, heading towards the balcony of the ballroom that overlooked the terrace of the hotel’s grounds.

Out in the rather chilly, but still refreshing March night air, Seto was finally able to enjoy his privacy. After seeing Pegasus move on to his next unfortunate victim, Seto turned his back to the bustling ballroom. Choosing to focus on his phone instead, his fingers rapidly typed an _update_ (not a rant, he _never_ rants) of his night to the non-present Ky Kiske.

> I’ve half a mind to leave since you not showing up had _conveniently_ created _two_ personal emergencies of my own.
> 
> Oh dear. How grave are they, if you don’t mind me asking?
> 
> _Monumental_.
> 
> I’m here to listen if you need someone to talk to.
> 
> Although much appreciated, you being here would’ve negated their occurrence to begin with.
> 
> I’d have _loved_ to attend a gala with such a charitable cause. But _unfortunate_ circumstances forced my hand otherwise. I do apologise.
> 
> I presume said _circumstances_ have been resolved given the timeliness of your responses?
> 
> (The full minute of inactivity that followed nearly annoyed Seto enough to call the other man to demand for an answer.)
> 
> Almost.
> 
> Efficient as usual, I see.
> 
> Just another product of your influence.
> 
> If only the rest of my staff could be _half_ as competent.
> 
> I’m certain they’re trying their best. We all do for a boss like you.
> 
> Unlikely. Maybe I should fire everyone else and rehire, because our KPIs do _not_ show said _effort_.
> 
> Perhaps it’s because they just aren’t as capable as you, and not because they shirk away from their responsibilities. Even if we wanted to, few, if any of us can hope to rival your abilities.
> 
> (Although what his friend said was a conclusion Seto came to many times in the past, he paused anyway, waiting to hear how Ky justified what he frankly believed was unforgivable incompetence on his employees’ end.)
> 
> Besides their livelihoods being dependent on their performance, you are an intrinsic motivation for us models, and the support staff alike. It’s hard not to be when you’re working for the _best_ modelling firm in the world, and under a man with such clarity of vision.
> 
> Maybe for _some_ of them, but others, especially the new hires, I’m considering showing the door the _second_ it’s convenient to.
> 
> Give them a little more time to adjust. You’d be surprise at how dedicated some are to you. Take Jounouchi Katsuya for example. He has not only accepted the substantial responsibility of clearing _your_ office, but has also been the first to constantly meet every expectation of yours so far. I’d say that comes only with the determination to succeed, and to overcome any challenge placed before him. All those are quite the rarity for a job many would deem insignificant to a modelling agency. He is but one example, and I do believe the rest of your staff is mostly the same. Just give them a little more leniency to adapt, and grow. It can be astonishing how much more some can give.

Rather surprised at Ky’s choice of example, Seto’s fingers hovered above the illuminated screen, debating the answer he had yet formed. While he knew the janitor was quite the hard worker despite his foul mouth, it was still _quite_ a stretch to lavish such praises on him.

Before the CEO could respond, a waiter —clad in clothes that made him look more like a stiff penguin than anything remotely professional— called for his presence in the main area. The former waved a hand impatiently in dismissal after hearing something about the President of the charity starting his speech soon. Deciding that a lack of reply to Ky’s message was more than appropriate, he shut off his phone, and strutted into the ballroom, steps steady but light, hundreds of eyes mesmerised by the presence exuded from the form that the volume of his coat billowed around.

 

* * *

 

_I’m a slaveeeee, for you_

Amidst the silence of a mostly empty office building, a dusty blond haired man shimmied in beat to the din of his one-man disco — brows drawn in concentration as he tried (and failed) to hit the high notes, voice shamelessly loud against the deafening volume of his music player, perky derriere swaying in tandem to the melody, the single cotton bud pinched between his fingers a makeshift light stick.

The holographic wall clock showed that it was just past nine in the night, and Katsuya wasn’t even halfway done with the absurd number of dragon statues his boss kept in his office. So, to retain the little sanity he had left after what already felt like an eternity, Katsuya decided an hour ago that only the princess of pop could alleviate the monotony of his tediously laborious task.

Midway through his playlist of Britney’s greatest hits, fatigue and the late hour gradually removed his inhibitions, and somewhere during the night, his brain willingly decided to ignore the knowledge that Seto probably had no less than twenty cameras hidden in his office. With his very enthusiastic lip syncing no longer sufficient to entertain him from the boredom of his surroundings, the janitor decided to intersperse his work by going out all with his improvised dance moves, and singing (shouting), which resulted in a rather comical sight to anyone who somehow caught a sight of him through the office’s floor-to-ceiling windows.

By the time he reached the last dragon —the final one of the _fourteen_ elaborate dragons that sat in various corners of the CEO’s office—, Katsuya was too busy grooving to his music to feel sorry for himself, or any hatred towards his employer. His motions had become almost automatic from repetition, and after the hundredth time, he had mercifully become immune to the painful stabs from the statues’ serrated fangs, and sharpened scales.

After he was done polishing the final piece, he gave each dragon a quick once over, making sure each did gleam with the same brilliance as Ky’s hair under the ceiling’s spotlights. Satisfied, Katsuya stretched his aching neck, and rolled his shoulders, groaning in relief at the conclusion of his unfairly long workday.

Thankful that it was still before one in the morning, Katsuya switched off his music player, hoping that the little battery that was left in it would last him through his train ride home. He swiftly wiped down the surfaces that had even the faintest imprints of his presence, gathered his cleaning equipment, and engaged Seto’s overly complicated security system before almost skipping out the door in elation at his freedom. With any luck, he’d be able to grab an oden from the convenience store in his neighbourhood before his stomach collapsed into a mini black hole of desperate hunger.

The man hurried to the nearest subway station, cursing himself for not grabbing his thicker coat, and hoping his speed would heat him up as he braved the biting wind. Trying to preoccupy his mind with anything else but the chill lashing against his bare face, he considered how deep the insanity of his boss ran for him to buy, or even commission that many dragons. Even more curious was how the dragons deviated towards their Western counterparts, none really reflecting the elegant serpentine bodies, and the dignified whiskers of the dragons from his childhood storybooks.

He knew Seto always had a fondness for dragon motifs, seeing how the latter always wore an elaborate ring of a dragon coiled around half the length of his ring finger, the generously sized gems of its eyes visible even from a good distance away. That wasn’t even the CEO’s most ostentatious dragon-themed item — auto news sites around the world went ballistic when his boss outright _demanded_ a custom paint job of a ferocious white dragon on his personal McLaren P1 LM. Furthermore, some rumours even suggested that Seto owned a private jet _shaped_ like said white dragon, the nose of the plane its head, and the wings the dragon’s literal own.

Unable to arrive at a better reason as to why Seto adored dragons as much as he did, Katsuya mused that perhaps his boss was secretly into Dungeons and Dragons, which would not only explain his dragons obsession, but also their unusual Western influence, and unique designs. The image of his refined employer clad in heavy purple robes, a polished staff in the grip of his hand as he shouted for his imaginary dragon was almost enough to distract from the cold. Katsuya couldn’t stifle the giggle that escaped, wisps of his soft laugher evaporating into the mostly silent night’s air. Taking the thought a step further, Katsuya imagined that Seto had lost his roll for initiative, ending up rock bottom in the tier, causing the dragon he commanded to singe him instead of the enemy.

Choosing to use failed-wizard-Seto as the default placeholder for his boss in future mentions outside of work, Katsuya continued chuckling as he entered the station. He exhaled the coldness from his lungs, feeling his skin flush at the welcomed blast of heat he was met with, happy to inhale air that didn’t feel like mini icicles piercing his nasal cavity. Noting that his train was due to arrive soon, he instinctively reached into his pocket, fingers searching for the worn plastic of his music player in anticipation of the long ride home.

Finding only emptiness, Katsuya patted his pants again. Feeling panic set in at the absence of said item, he shrugged off his coat, frantically pressing at its numerous pockets, hoping he had slipped it into a compartment he didn’t normally use instead. After he had missed his train, received wary looks from the station attendant at his frenzied motions, and had all but torn his coat apart in his search to no avail, Katsuya anxiously gripped his hips, heavy frown on his face as he tried to recall when he had last seen his music player.

_Did I lose it?? Damnit, no way! I can’t afford another one right now! ARGH, today’s been absolutely shit!! Fuckin’ Kaiba… Ugh, okay, I needa calm down. Panickin’ ain’t helpin’. I know I wasn’t usin’ it when walkin’ here… Never do when in da streets this late. Did I drop it? But I don’t recall touchin’, or feelin’ it in my pockets at all when I was walkin’… Or even when I left the office… Maybe it fell out in da lift? But I’m sure my coat was empty, and I wasn’t holdin’ anythin’ when puttin’ it on… Unless I dropped it before that… Storage? Did I even have it–, no my uniform had nothin’ in it when I changed… So that leaves… Oh shit. No, no fuckin’ way– Did I leave it inside Kaiba’s room?!_

He surveyed Seto’s office in his memory, combing every corner for the familiar hint of grey until his mind’s eye rested on the item at the foot of the dragon statue on Seto’s desk. Feeling his heart sink into the pits of his stomach at the realisation, Katsuya grabbed the sides of his head, frustrated outcry startling the station attendant who had been eyeing him all this time, the latter considering calling for reinforcements at the younger man’s erratic behaviour.

 _Why did I have ta leave it on his desk?!_ _Damnit! I needa get it or moneybags is definitely gonna fire my ass! But even if I run I dunno if I can make it back ta catch da last train… And I ain’t got enough cash on me ta cab, UGH! Wait, maybe I can go back super early tomorrow, and be in and out before Kaiba notices…._

Calming down now that he had a plan to mitigate what he had originally thought to be his inevitable demise, Katsuya eased into his coat again, blood still pounding against his ears, all the while remaining just as oblivious to the perturbed looks of suspicion the station attendant continued giving him.

Just when he thought he had solved his dilemma, Katsuya suddenly remembered how his boss’ office security rejected all but its owner’s entry outside working hours. Even if he ran back to retrieve his possession now, his efforts would be futile, _and_ he would probably be pinned on the ground with the entire Domino police force pointing their weapons at his back for attempted robbery.

Throwing his head back with a cry of agitation, Katsuya rubbed the heels of his palms roughly into his heated face, wondering how, or if he could find a way out of the mess he was now in. Trudging resignedly into the train, the dejected man plopped himself into the nearest seat, glad that the empty cabin meant his anxious fidgeting, and restrained grumbles of regrets wouldn’t bother anyone else.

As the train pulled away from the lights of the central business district, the station assistant relaxed with a sigh at its departure, relieved that who he thought was _definitely_ an inebriated man hadn’t delayed the end of his shift. Shaking his head, he mumbled about the loosened responsibilities that passed as acceptable in young adults these days, and shuffled back to the station’s break room, tale of said drunk man expectant on his tongue, awaiting the audience of his colleagues over a warm cup of tea.

 

* * *

 

An incessant beeping broke the stillness of the lazy Saturday morning, its shrillness prompting Katsuya to smack blindly at his phone until the screech of his alarm was snoozed yet again. Groaning at the interruption, he rolled over, and buried his head under the pillow, trying to use that little bit of darkness to escape back into his sleep.

The brightness of the sky outside meant it was likely _way_ after his usual waking time, but since Katsuya managed to push meeting Yugi into the afternoon —the latter being sympathetic to his plight of how it was _not da same spendin’ da mornin’ without music_ —, he was contented to sulk until his fog of self-pity lifted enough for him to get out of bed. Hiroto on the other hand, was less considerate after hearing Katsuya’s plight, choosing to focus on the latter being potentially fired. When Katsuya swung the subject back to his _much_ more important music player, Hiroto simply told him to transfer his music into his phone instead of brooding over the loss of a nearly defunct music player. In spite of the latter’s insensitivity, Katsuya would rather brush it off than to remind the other that said brick of a music player was the first item he’d gotten with his own money, lest he was further teased for his sentimentality. Regardless of how its technology was closer to that of a toaster than current music players, Katsuya was still adamant on using it until the last of its lifespan had been exhausted (naturally, and not from the heel of whatever overly expensive shoe his boss was wearing when he found it).

After unsuccessfully tossing and turning trying to get back to sleep (which was restless anyway given how his dreams were plagued with his old music player forlornly calling out to him from the clutches of his evil boss), Katsuya pulled himself reluctantly from the warmth of his sheets, bleary eyes squinted against the glare of daylight from between his mostly undrawn curtains. Resisting the urge to fall back onto his bed again, he forced himself off his bed, the freezing tiles of his bedroom floor doing wonders to his lethargy.

After taking a very long shower —of which a good half was just standing under the weak pellets of water trying to reconcile the _death_ of his music player—, Katsuya felt the last of his sluggishness dissipate. Finally gathering enough energy to break free from his inertia, he stepped out into the stillness of his apartment, the coolness of the air refreshing as it enveloped him.

As he was very vigorously, and ineffectively trying to wipe his hair with a threadbare towel, Katsuya heard the unmistakable chime of his doorbell. Startled by the sound, he lost his balance as he snapped his head up in response, and ended up crashing gracelessly into the sink. Several unpleasant swears at the inanimate object later, and still wincing in pain, he called out with great annoyance, “Comin’! Just a sec!”

Without missing a beat, the doorbell rang again, this time twice in succession. Now thoroughly miffed at the impatience of whoever was behind the door, Katsuya stumbled out the bathroom, a hand still pressed against his aching back. He paused for a moment, considering if he should hurry to his room for a pair of sweatpants. Mid thought, the bell rang yet again, this time more urgently. Given how thin the walls of his apartment were, Katsuya _knew_ that said person definitely heard the yell he nothing short of bellowed. Deciding that it was said ringer’s fault if they considered his makeshift loincloth too thin a cover, Katsuya rushed to the door mostly still in a state of undress, hands working to secure his flimsy towel around his waist.

He threw the door open, a scowl visible under his dripping wet fringe. “Can’t ya wait! A minute won’t kill ya–“

Instead of the postperson he thought he was berating, Katsuya was met with an empty corridor. More confused than irritated now, he peeked at both ends of the corridor, the complete lack of motion other than his own not helping him find who the culprit was. Mumbling about how pranksters would find any hour of the day to unleash their mischief on the unsuspecting, the blond was just about to shut his door when he felt his toe jab against a crisp material.

Looking down, he saw a small brown packet by his feet, its outer covering very obviously wrapped around its contents, and held together by a rubber band. Not able to recall if he had yet to receive any items he’d bought online, Katsuya bent over to pick the item up for closer examination, barely grazing it before he felt what he thought was the completely secure knot of his towel come loose.

“ _Pervert_!”

Katsuya felt himself erupt into a shade of scarlet, turning around only to see that the owner of the voice belonged to the reclusive old woman from a few doors down. The same one he’d never seen leave her house more than _twice_ in whole of the past year. Given his luck, it _had_ to be this exact moment during which she decided was the perfect time for some fresh air. He embarrassedly croaked out an apology, snatched up his delivery, all the while scrambling to gather the material of his towel in front of his own _package,_ gripping the cloth to his body as if his life depended on it. Heart nearly leaping out of his throat in humiliation, he escaped back into the safety of his own house with a hasty slam of the door, and away from the accusatory glare, and the curled gnarled finger of his neighbour.

Finally able to put on some clothes, Katsuya flopped on his bed gratefully, mishap from earlier forgotten. He examined the packet, finding it rather odd that there were no stamps or other identifying marks on it, not even his name. He removed the rubber band, and shook its contents out, surprised when he saw not one, but two items fall out.

Even more astonishing was how the familiar glint of dulled grey was one of the things that tumbled out. Katsuya grabbed it, disbelief only abating upon feeling the same worn material that was familiar from years of memory in his fingers. _How…?_

After giving in to the relief and elation at the accomplishment of what he’d thought was the impossible, his attention was drawn to the other item that lay on his bed. _Is that an iPod Touch?!_ He held it in the light of the late morning sun, the gadget’s golden sheen gleaming in return, and its smooth metal body light and cool to his touch. Katsuya tentatively switched it on (only knowing how to because Anzu’s wonky iPhone required multiple restarts each time they met up), still in shock when he saw the monochrome logo of an apple appear on the screen.

Setting the iPod down, Katsuya pondered as to who would be generous enough to _gift_ him the latest and most in demand music player in the market _on top of_ returning his original Sony mp3 player. His first thought went to his supervisor, who despite his day job had multiple other _substantial_ sources of income. However, since it was a weekend, Katsuya was doubtful that Sol would return to the office save for a reason no less than Ky being held hostage within it. (It also didn’t help that Ky was much more likely than Sol to get him something other than the occasional pork curry rice from CoCo Ichiban.) On the other hand, as likely a candidate as Ky was, not only did he not have access to their boss’ office at all, Katsuya knew that Sol would do _everything_ in his ability to stop his partner from working during weekends.

That meant that the only conceivable option left was also the most unimaginable — that his _boss_ , the same one who afflicted his otherwise pretty darn good existence with complete misery, somehow managed to dig out a sliver of humanity from his blackened withered soul to save Katsuya’s weekend (and his job) from ruination.

He examined the wrapping of the package again, trying to find any hints as to who his benefactor was. Finding nothing that gave away said person’s identity, Katsuya decided to fiddle with the iPod Touch, hoping to see if its contents could point him in the direction of who the gift giver was (or just _something_ that was contrary to that someone being his boss).

He flipped through the contents of the device, finding the default settings and background still in place. The only thing out of the ordinary was how _every_ single song from his own music player had been downloaded into the iPod, _including_ his numerous custom playlists. (That discovery was _mortifying_ , because if this was indeed a display of kindness from his boss, it meant that Seto was now aware of his _hilarious_ , and not at all immature and nonsensical playlist naming skills. His employer shouldn’t fault him for being nothing but _truthful_ when he created _FIVE STARS WHEN DRUNK_ , _2FAB5U_ and _THE SHIT, THE BEST SHIT_ amongst many of his other gems of playlist titles.)

As he was scrutinising the playlists in the iPod’s library, Katsuya noticed a new addition titled _Actual Music for Anyone with Decent Tastes_. Now really worried that it _was_ his boss who had set all this up, the blond scanned the playlist quickly. The last of his uncertainty waning, the blond scrunched his face up in disgust at how it was a stuffy mix of classical music and opera pieces. It _had_ to be Seto. Save for his pretentious boss, no one else in the right frame of mind would listen to that posh and out-dated since three centuries ago bullshit of their own free will.

With his worst fear realised, Katsuya fell face-first into his pillow, figuring that suffocating himself was worth stopping the thought of Seto snickering at his _brilliance_ from looping in his head. Still rather dubious at the intentions of his boss —especially with the latter’s history of pernicious treatment of him—, the janitor tried to reason why his employer didn’t just toss his music player away. Instead, Seto chose to (probably get some poor lackey of his to) return it, which didn’t add up to Katsuya especially with the former’s disdain for all obsolete technology.

Now concerned that the device was bugged, or a disguised bomb, or something similarly dangerous, Katsuya gingerly picked up the iPod. Trying to ignore how a part of him actually considered substituting his clunky mp3 player for its shiny new counterpart, he switched it off, and locked it in his safe (even if he wasn’t going to use it, the last thing he wanted was for some opportune robber to nick a _present_ from his boss).

With the object of his deliberation finally out of his sight, the blond decided that he could worry about his boss’ motives when Monday arrived. Throwing on a tee under his favourite jacket, and deciding to go for a pair of ripped jeans ( _not_ because he felt _badass_ at how ignoring the iPod felt like he was defying Seto) instead of his usual plain ones, Katsuya grabbed his own music player, ready to toss it into his backpack. The familiar weight and shape of it in his palm triggered a resurgence of relief and jubilation at its return, accumulating into a budding warmth that expanded in his chest, rising into his neck before evaporating from the crinkled lips of his smile.

Ready to leave, Katsuya exited his apartment, steps lighter without the weight of his loss. He greeted a neighbour he passed in spite of how her back was facing him, giving her a chipper hello that clearly reflected how good a mood he was in. When she turned to return the greeting, her eyes widened at the sight of Katsuya, a bony finger jabbed in his direction as she struggled to squawk out her condemnation at the earlier depraved action of the man before her.

Realising who he had just called out to, Katsuya dashed off to the stairwell, shouting a hasty _sorry_ behind him as he escaped what he knew was an impending lecture of how immoral a youth he supposedly was. Stuffing his earphones into his ears, Katsuya decided that despite his faux pas, the day was still one of celebration, and warranted the spicy tunes of _THE SHIT, THE BEST SHIT_. Music player clasped firmly in his palm and tucked away in the safety of his jacket’s pocket, Katsuya thought that maybe, _just_ maybe, Ky was right, and Seto wasn’t _that_ bad a person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully I made up for the lack of crack in the previous chapter with this one! So the extra length of this can be attributed to that. This is completely not an excuse for me to finally write dorky Katsuya, and another for me to write diva!rich!men. I'm not sure if I can find a way to feature Ryuuji more, but Pegasus is really just going to be that one off since he's just going to make everyone else cringe to hell and back. We'll see how it goes, and hopefully I'll find more motivation to write future parts!
> 
> I did originally want for Seto to show up at Katsuya's place, but I couldn't reconcile how they'd just jump straight into something other than a heated argument that leads to one stomping off so... This is all I can manage right now. But hey, I don't plan on the iPod sitting unused forever! And I substituted the potential Kaijou getting together with more clumsy Katsuya so hope those suffice for now...
> 
> This was written quite a while back, but I was too preoccupied to revisit it so I do apologise for the wait! Hopefully these three parts give a good enough insight on the boys in thus AU, and also establishes the kind of relationship (or lack thereof) between Kaijou, and if whims are willing, hopefully I can progress that into something more! In the meantime, please bug daemon_angelus for me to write more Solky parts I can use for motivation thank you. /completely not subtle hint/
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read my first attempt at a crack AU! Hopefully there was more crack than boredom!

**Author's Note:**

> Remember how I wanted to write a crack!AU? Well, this is it. Spawned from an idea that was initially daemon_angelus', who was kind enough to allow me to insert my OTP alongside hers. Hundreds of messages, and hours of laughter later, we'd more or less crystalised the basic premise, with just enough shenanigans to satiate our inner crack demons.
> 
> While there are two main pairings featured, due to my inability to properly characterise the other pair, I'll be focusing mostly on Kaijou, and hopefully daemon_angelus can take over for Solky. There won't be too coherent a timeline (at least for my end), but rather a collection of more prominent events in their encounters. 
> 
> Hopefully this won't be too self indulgent, but right now I'm having too much fun with the more exaggerated characterisations of Kaijou to really bother with the overt realism I normally revert to. So please be aware of that as you read, and just enjoy how poor Katsuya is tortured by Seto~
> 
> Thank you again kindly for taking the time to read this! When daemon_angelus finally gets her AO3, we will create a collab collection to post our works in! (Edit: she finally did! With the same username!)
> 
> (Crossposted to my tumblr: rainofcolours)


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